


Not Coming Back

by Anonymous



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Decisions, Child Neglect, Drugs, Gen, Slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-13 19:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15371460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Wilson hates parties.Especially the ones Wes brings him to.





	Not Coming Back

Wes was staring at him again.

For a split second, Wilson found himself staring right back. Then he looked away, a little light headed, hands clasped tight in his lap and trying to not feel as uncomfortable as he truly was, sitting on some strangers couch in some strangers house.

It wasn't a bad couch, all things considered, a few stains here and there, worn and definitely aged, used, and he found his gaze wandering over its rather unclean surface for a moment before his mind snapped back to feeling Wes's gaze burning into him.

He shouldn't have come, not at all. He hated parties, and this wasn't even much of a party to begin with.

There was a man in the kitchen, a big man, and he looked like he was raiding the fridge, just in general making all sorts of gross noises. Wilson narrowed his eyes at the mans back, just peeking over the kitchens counter, and wondered when he got there. He hadn't been there when Wes had guided him inside.

There had been a rather tired looking lady, dressed up and clean compared to the rest of the flat, but all she had done was open the door for them, given him an exhausted, almost angry look, before getting practically shoved out of the way by a teenager. That one had immediately recognized Wes, and smelled heavily of alcohol, babbling quickly and slurring heavily about...something he couldn't understand.

Wasn't that illegal? 

But then again, he was not exactly the same law abiding citizen he had been a few months ago. Wilson wanted to blame Wes on that, but he really couldn't do that when it was all his fault to begin with.

That reminded him, glancing up to see the other man still giving him a piercing stare. Wes was still watching him.

It made a shiver go up his spine, something about the man's dark gaze making him nervous, and after a moment of floundering for words that were for some reason incredibly hard to wrangle, Wilson licked his dry lips and finally found his voice.

“I'm gonna...go find the restroom.” His voice was hoarse, and vision a little wobbly and really why was he like this again, he hadn't even drank anything yet-

It was a bad excuse, but the moment he was able to stand up, wobbling and swaying as the world went double, he realized that maybe it was a good idea that he try to find the bathroom. There was a pit in his gut, swirling with nausea, and his limbs felt heavy and senses dull, the world all too round and shifting ever so slightly.

He practically rammed into a wall when the world jerked under his feet, grabbing at it with a wobbly arm and taking deep breaths, forcing himself to ignore that burning feeling of someone watching him, and after a moment of getting his bearings Wilson turned the corner into the hall.

It was dark, very dark, and he tripped on the carpet and almost knocked over some pictures on the walls before finding the light switch. When he flipped it on, however, all it did was flicker horribly, blinding him a moment as the hall danced with color and his own ineptitude.

Turning it off hurriedly, not knowing in the slightest where the bathroom was, or at least a nearby trash can, Wilson leaned heavily on what was probably some sort of table, feeling it wobble on uneven legs, whatever was on it clinking from his minor weight. His gut was roiling now, almost painful, and what the hell had he gotten into this time?

Not alcohol, he tried not to touch the stuff after what happened last time, if Wes hadn't been there then things could have gone so, so very wrong-

He was able to prevent himself from dropping to his knees, but very suddenly his body decided it couldn't take it and Wilson very blurrily found himself vomiting beside the table.

It took a moment, gut sloshing and feeling horrendously ill as he tried to empty himself of whatever he had but being unable to do it properly for some goddamn reason, and the smell stung his nose and made him feel even worse now. Using the table to keep himself up, gasping and trying to not focus too much on the taste in his mouth, Wilson closed his eyes and just breathed for a few moments.

And then there was footsteps right behind him, muffled by the carpet, and the split moment of panic strung through him before-

“Gross, the bathroom was just to your left, ya dingus.”

Oh, it was Willow.

“I...didn't know you were here.” He panted between deep breaths, squinting his eyes to look at her dark silhouette. There was a faint light from her lighter, a tiny flame close to her chest and chin, only enough to make her eyes shine and everything else about her a little more imposing.

Why did everyone have to be so much taller than him, why?

“Wendy always invites me around.” She flicked her head up, the shadows of her pony tails whipping through the air, and her lighter only just barely shined over her grin. “I'm the “life of the party”, after all.”

She said it with emphasizes, almost sarcastically, leaving Wilson in dizzy bewilderment before she clapped him heavily on the back, almost making him fall over.

“How's about you don't buy shit off of Wes anymore, huh?”

“Wha…-”

She rolled her eyes, as if he was acting stupid, crossing her arms and looking down at him as he continued to lean heavily on the unbalanced table, trying to not look as sick and disgusting as he felt.

“How gullible can you get? Edibles can really do you in if you are unprepared.”

Edibles? What the hell was she talking about-

Oh.

She must have seen the look on his face, what with the sudden wide, bared teeth grin and loud snorting laughter, not even trying to hide her amusement. 

“You should've known, don't buy shit from him unless you're ready for it, even if it looks safe. Especially not his brownies.”

The dawning realization of just how much of a fool he was was bitter and made him turn away, agitated at his gullibility even though he should know this already. He's been around Wes enough, he knew the man rather well in most respects, and he had been an idiot.

He was always the idiot, at the end of the day.

“How much didja spend huh?” Willows voice was still tinged with her laughter, no sympathy whatsoever, and Wilson hunched his shoulders and fought the urge to try and spit that disgusting taste out of his mouth. His gut was still uneasy, and he didn't want to throw up anymore. “A pretty penny, am I right?”

“...40 bucks.” he mumbled, not looking at her and instead glaring at the nothingness of darkness. He had thought, at the time, that it was just some tin of normal, if odd smelling, brownies, and had offered $5 at first, just wanting something to do besides sit on the couch staring at nothing. But then Wes had shaken his head and pointed up a couple of times, an easy way to show he required more than that, and from there Wilson just kept upping the stakes since at around the $15 mark he felt he couldn't back off. “And he didn't even give me a good sized piece, just some crumbs.”

“Probably a good thing.” She shook her head, still with that horrid smile on her face. “If this is what happens with a few crumbs, then anything else might just send your ass to the morgue.”

He frowned at her, not wanting to believe in his own lightweight status but knowing she was right, anything too strong probably would kill him. 

The perks of not having enough body weight, how wonderful.

Something dawned on him suddenly, making him carefully stand up a little straighter, wincing as his gut swirled and his head swam.

“Weren't you supposed to be watching that kid today?” He felt a little satisfaction at how quick her head snapped back to him, smile gone and replaced with something a little uglier. 

“I am watching him.” Her voice had dropped into something meaner, crueler, and he internally winced. “He just fucked off somewhere when I wasn't looking, snotty brat.”

He felt bad about it, but it wasn't any of his business. The sort of people who hired Willow as a babysitter probably deserved it, but not the kid.

Wilson didn't know a name, but Willow easily provided, swirling around and crossing her arms, suddenly very cold and stiff.

“Webber’s probably eating rat shit somewhere, with how gross this place is. Little retard is always putting shit into his mouth, I swear he's just living off of bugs at this point.”

Wilson did visibly wince at that, ill at his own memories of Willows foul language, but didn't speak up or interrupt her. He's had his own time being called all sorts of names, and around Wes's friends it seems like he's been hearing them more often, but there wasn't anything he could do. Getting too involved had gotten him into this mess in the first place.

“Are...are you going to try and find him?” Wilson shuddered at the thought of what a child could get into in here, glancing at his own mess he had made, the carpet probably ruined. “He could get hurt.”

“Hurt shmurt.” Willow shrugged, voice changing suddenly and quickly into a lighter tone. “Sucks to be him, little asshole. Did you know he tried to bite me this morning? Didn't want to go to the party, so he threw a tantrum and I had to drag him kicking and screaming to the car. What a fucking retard, no wonder his parents don't want him around.”

Wilson tried to not look queasy, but failed rather miserably. Thankfully Willow seemed to think it was from something else.

“Bathroom’s to the left, down that way.” She pointed, and for a moment her brows furrowed and she actually looked like a normal, real person for once. “Try not to be suckered into that sort of stuff anymore, okay? It'll do you in, if you're not careful.”

He just nodded, not really trusting himself to talk anymore. Willow was…

Was not his friend. He didn't think any of Wes's friends could be his, that was for sure.

With that she spun on her heels and went back down the hall, to the living room and kitchen.

From here, he could hear the quiet grumble of conversation, through the thin walls. Perhaps that big man had gotten Wes's attention.

Wilson hadn't wanted to come, not at all, but last week he had...messed up, big time. Big enough that the other man was now keeping a rather sharp eye on him.

It wasn't his fault it had exploded and the house had caught fire! He was still new to all this, sometimes one makes mistakes, does the wrong thing, puts the wrong ingredients in, trips on a loose cable, it really wasn't his fault!

All he could be grateful for was that he hadn't gotten hurt. Those ratty bastards that Wes had “working” for him were another story, and it made his belly swirl even worse at the memory. It had been a mess, a terrible, fiery, chemical smelling one, and he had been dizzy and terrified out of his mind.

Another thing to owe Wes, his own life now. And making sure he hadn't been caught by anyone either; Wilson didn't want to mar his aspirations with jail time. He had goals to reach, something to do with his life, and this was a serious dent in everything already, but at least Wes was keeping him out of the crossfire.

For how long, he didn't have a clue, and it made him uneasy, made him afraid. He just wanted it all over already, done, finished, complete. 

But it was taking so much longer than he had originally thought it would be, so much time. He didn't know what to do, but doing what Wes asked of him was the only thing keeping him afloat right now and he had to keep close to that.

No matter what type of friendliness they seemed to have going, he was terribly afraid of the man. There was no telling on if he'd be stabbed in the back or not, and all he wanted to do was at least get through this unmarked.

Carefully using the wall for balance, watchful as to not knock any photos off, Wilson pressed a hand to his belly to try and distract himself from the discomfort and made his way down the hall. Willow had said to the left, but so far he wasn't seeing anything.

At least until he tripped on the edge of the rug, the fabric curled up into a hill that caught his feet, and he was squinting at a crossing of the hall. The door on the left was closed, dark, and he could assume it was the bathroom but he wasn't all too sure.

There was a soft amber light coming from the other room, door ajar, and he could hear voices from in there.

“Look, Mister Maxwell, we founda spider! Look at all his little leggies!”

Well, that's where the kid ended up, no doubt. Unless, Wilson hesitating as he tried to peek in without being seen, there was another kid running around this horrid flat too. He wouldn't put it passed anyone, but it was a terrible thought.

“Ah, I see it Webber, you don't have to put it in my face.” 

Wilson blinked a bit, careful to not swing the door open, and found himself looking into someone's bedroom.

The only thing remarkable about it was how dingy it seemed, simple and ill fashioned, but his eye did catch what appeared to be a large red flower of sorts on the cabinet, next to a radio with added speakers.

There was the kid, not looking too worse for wear thankfully, holding out his hand to…

Was that man wearing a laundry basket on his head?

It certainly wasn't the oddest thing Wilson has ever seen, but it was a little surprising. Said man, face obscured by the plastic, leaned forward as if to get a good look at the spider in Webbers hand, which Wilson couldn't barely see from here, a dark, stick legged thing.

“Looks like a harvestman, not a spider. Sorry pal.”

“Daddy long legs!” Webber practically shrieked this, Wilson just barely keeping from jumping back at the suddenness of the sound while the other man seemed to be used to it. “Itsa daddy long legs, and we love him!”

With that the kid practically smushed the spider to his face, the man heaving a deep sigh.

“Do be careful Webber, you don't want to kill it.”

“Oh…” 

The man reached over, carefully with his palm up, and for a moment Webbers face scrunched up and he leaned away, hands protectively, if a little aggressively, crushed over the spider. 

“I'm going to set him free, probably under the bed. He'll be safer there than in your hands.” The kid didn't look like he was going to relent, and Wilson watched, waited. Willow had said something about tantrums, so who knew what could end up happening with this kid. “Please, Webber. A little harvestman deserves to be in a safe place as much as everybody else.”

Wilson thought that word choice was a little odd, but it seemed to mean something to Webber and the child clumsily leaned forward and unclenched his hands, dropping what remained of the poor spider into the man's hands.

It was probably dead, all crushed up, Wilson peeking in with some sort of odd, detached interest. When he had been young, bugs had been interesting, unique, if a little frightening at times.

He's killed his fair share, pulled them apart piece by piece to watch them wiggle about. He hadn't realized until much later that perhaps they were feeling pain as they died.

Then, later on, he learned bugs had a unique way of feeling pain, in a way where they actually didn't. It still didn't soften his own guilt, however.

What surprised him, however, was that the man carefully nudged the spider in his hand with a gloved finger, and it moved.

Not in the way of dying spiders, but of the living, crawling a little slowly over his hands.

“Oh no, he's hurt!” Webber cried out, leaning forward as he clapped his hands to his cheeks, looking horrified.

The man waved him back, twisting around to stretch his hand under the bed and carefully dump the spider onto the ragged carpet. “Just a few legs missing, nothing truly terrible. He'll be fine. Spiders can deal with a couple legs gone, no problem.”

“No problem…?” Webber trailed off, a hand on his chin and looking a little dumbfounded. The man patted him on the head, a quick distraction.

“Thank you for helping me with him, Webber. Now he'll be safe.”

That sent a beaming smile on the kids face, clapping his hands and giggling happily, as if forgetting the spiders injuries had been caused by him and not some unknown monster.

At this point Wilson decided he'd rather not accidentally be caught snooping and tried to politely knock on the door. A little awkward, with him already looking in as he was, but better than being caught unawares.

Not to mention, someone was looking for the kid and keeping her waiting like that would either send her into a horrible mood or just make her leave Webber behind. He didn't want that, not here, surrounded by Wes and all these strangers.

Webber shot up, scrambling over to try and fling the door open, startling him a moment before getting distracted by the kids frantic bouncing.

“Hello Mister Wilson!” he chirped, curls bobbing along with the rest of him as he clapped his hands. “It's nice ta meet you, we're Webber! Miss Willow told us all about you!”

Wilson grimaced at that information, but Webber had grabbed at one of his hands and shook up and down vigorously, beaming all the while.

For once, it seemed as if he was now the taller of someone, and of course it was a child.

Whatever speck of self confidence he felt from that evaporated near instantly when the other man slowly stood up, as if it was a right pain to do so, and there Wilson was again, feeling all too short. It wasn't as if the man was too tall, but it was enough for him to feel loomed over.

“I don't recall your face, have you just arrived?” There was something cold there, dark, and yet he could practically taste the exhaustion in the air, just like with that other lady from before. He didn't even know where she went after he had been led inside, hasn't seen her at all.

The laundry basket, pink and very cheap plastic, obscured the mans face, though his suit was ragged and worn and-

Were those bunny slippers!?

Right, this was either some really weird friend of Wes's, like usual, or, possibly, the actual host of this flat. From how he had been handling Webber, a special case, then maybe he had nothing to do with Wes.

“I got here a…” Wilson paused, having no idea how long he's stayed here, under the influence of edible brownies and Wes's watchful eye, and decided to wing it. “...a little while ago, in fact. I don't believe we've met, Mr…?”

Perhaps a little too polite for this sort of get together, with a small, all too excited child, him in casual wear and still looking ill, and a man wearing a laundry basket and bunny slippers, but no matter the outdatedness of it Wilson prided himself in being ever the gentleman.

Even in these rather crude situations.

Just as the other man was about to talk, however, Webber interrupted, bouncing up and down and waving his hands up in the air, making grabbing motions.

“You have to take your hat off, Mister Maxwell! It's the rules!”

“Mister Maxwell” sighed heavily, making Wilson a little bewildered since when where there rules, but he reached up and pulled it off, handing the pink thing to the child, who immediately started to run about the room with it in his hands, laughing excitedly.

Without that obscuring the other mans face, Wilson suddenly realized that yes, this absolutely had to be the owner of this place.

It had to be, since he looked just as drained, old, and worn out as the rest of the flat.

“Maxwell Carter.” His voice was still stiff, cold, almost angry in a sense, and when he stuck out his hand, gloved and the sleeve torn at the edges, Wilson hesitated a full moment before slowly reaching out to shake.

It was brief, not in the slightest a warm welcome, and very much seemed the complete opposite from how the older man had been acting with Webber.

“How did you get in then, pal? Wendy send you a little invite, let you just waltz in without a second thought?”

The harsh frown and slight baring of teeth really threw him off, but Wilson recovered and hurriedly shook his head, not wanting to be thrown in with all the rest of the rubble so early on.

He may be doing clearly illegal things due to owing somebody, but he wasn't at all like these people, he wasn't! 

“No no no, I don't even know a Wendy!” There was a stern, disbelieving look leveled at him, and Wilson sucked in a breath and tried to not feel cowed. He's had enough of that from everybody else, he couldn't let some old man push him around too. “I was dragged along in with a man named Wes, he wanted me to accompany him, so I…”

His line of thought faded, the sudden change in expression from Maxwell startling just before it turned into a harsh frown and the man pressed a hand to his eyes, heaved an ever heavier sigh.

Right, well, that was odd. He had no idea what that had been, but for a second there that had almost looked like genuine fear at the mention of Wes. 

But he could be mistaken. After all, Wilson was still recovering from what he had eaten.

There was no answer from the older man, looking as if he was lost in thought with his hand still covering his eyes, sucking in deep breaths through tightly clenched teeth, so Wilson was left in almost awkward silence.

Then he caught sight of Webber, half under the undone bed, and he remembered something.

“Hey Webber, come here, I need to tell you something.” The kid scrambled back, looked around a moment before seeing him, bounding over with a curious, excited look on his face.

“Yah, Mister Wilson?”

It did hurt him, having to remind himself of this, but it was better than the alternative. Webber shouldn't be left behind by his babysitter.

“Willow was looking for you earlier, you shouldn't have run off without her.” Wilson attempted to school his expression into concern and worry, which wasn't all too hard for the wrong reasons. “She was worried about you, she doesn't know where you went.”

Webber pouted, crossing his arms and narrowing his gaze up at Wilson in utter disbelief. 

“Miss Willow doesn't like us, she doesn't, not at all.” Suddenly he clenched his hands into fists and shouted up at Wilson, made him jolt a bit from the volume. “She HATES us!”

Wilson floundered, trying to find a way to defuse the situation, not at all wanting to get into a shouting match with a young child, but thankfully someone else came to his rescue.

“She may not like you, Webber, but sometimes that's just how it is.”

Or maybe not.

But Maxwell crouched down to the kids level, and he looked stressed and tense but was visibly trying to focus on what was going on in the now of things.

“Now, if she's looking for you, perhaps it would be wise to find her first.” Webber looked a little confused by that, but seemed thoroughly calmed by just having Maxwell talk to him, on his level.

They must have known each other for awhile, Wilson mused, not daring to say a thing just incase he made it worse. For some reason, that thought made him feel a little sad.

“Everytime you run off, make sure you run right back soon. Bad things can happen if you don't, alright, pal?” Webber nodded hurriedly, watching Maxwell with strict attention even if he wasn't meeting his eyes and was just looking all about the man instead.

Right, maybe this friendship wasn't the best. Wilson frowned at what was being said, the interpretation too up in the air for a young child to possibly understand, not to mention the damage such advice could cause. But then, he wasn't going to interrupt, no matter if he could think of something better to say or not.

He hasn't been in this place, or many of these places, for very long; perhaps this sort of advice was integral to survival?

Or maybe not. Probably not, but again, Wilson wasn't going to interrupt. It wasn't his place.

With Webber nodding hurriedly, a little calmer, Maxwell raised a hand to pat him on the head, slowly standing back up. This close, and Wilson could hear the creaks and pops of bones, and he internally winced at the noise. Being old must be painful, and he so wasn't looking forward to it.

“Off you go then, dear. Go find Willow, and I'll see you next time.”

Webber dashed off, down the dark hall and out of sight, just a split moment of him yelling behind his shoulder “Bye bye, alligator!” before it was just the two of them left.

There was an awkward pause, Wilson looking back to see Maxwell still watching where Webber had left, before the older man shook his head with a sigh.

“I wish she didn't bring him along, this is no place for a child to be wandering.” The man's tone had changed from that colder verse, which was practically a weight off of Wilson's shoulders. At least he can be assured the the owner of this place didn't hate him or anything. 

He had no idea how to excuse Willows blatant disregard of Webbers safety, and after a moment where he shifted his weight Wilson decided that maybe he shouldn't try to defend her. After all, they were certainly not friends.

“...She shouldn't have even come if she was watching him for today.” He remembered how she had mentioned Webber throwing a fit because he specifically didn't want to come here, and frowned at the thought. “Who in their right mind would even hire her?”

There was a chuckle from Maxwell, startling Wilson for a moment before he realized he had said that last part out loud, but the older man looked a little less tense now and that had to be a good sign, right?

After a moment Maxwell waved him to the door, absentmindedly brushing off his worn suit as he flipped the light switch off and having them retreat into the darkness of the hallway.

“My niece's room is, ironically, the least likely place for Webber to hurt himself. It is also the one place that he could get his hands onto something delicate, so I was keeping a watch on him since he arrived.” 

After the light of the room, no matter how amber and soft, the darkness was a little daunting and Wilson took slow steps, trying to not trip on anything. The old man seemed a little more at ease, as if he knew the hallway well already, which probably wasn't too far from the truth, but he kept behind Wilson.

As if to make sure he didn't wander back the way they came, that low thread of a threat hanging in the air. Wilson had no such motives, however, though it did make him a little nervous. 

Though Wes seemed to like the advantages Wilson had for being short and small, it wasn't comforting in the slightest when someone could easily sneak up behind him and pick him up without him even realizing until it was too late. He's had it done enough to make him paranoid, especially around taller than average people, and while Maxwell wasn't at Wes's height it was enough to make him anxious as hell.

Thankfully nothing of the sort actually happened.

“I suppose you'd like to end up back in the living room?”

Wilson grew queasy at the suggestion, thinking of just going out there to sit and be stared at again. He shook his head, a little vigorously maybe, but the darkness of the hall shrouded his gesture and Maxwell kept close behind him, making sure he continued back the way he came.

He really, really didn't want Wes's attention upon him again, especially with the knowledge that essentially the man took advantage of him, not informing him that what he was even buying was drugged.

He couldn't even remember much of what had been going on before realizing his unease with Wes's gaze upon him, only brief memory of colors and bubbly nausea. It hurt his head just to try and remember, but then he noticed a light ahead and shifted his focus, pushing all that back for now.

Later, he could try to analyze what being high on edibles did to him, but not right now, with a barely known stranger looming behind him in said strangers house.

The light turned out to be from the living room, Wilson halting suddenly but fortunately not feeling Maxwell bump into him. Instead, as he peeked around the corner, he felt the brief brush of the older man doing the same above him, the sudden unease of contact but knowing they both didn't want to be caught apparently.

There was that teen again, rocking on her feet and talking animatedly to a leaned back, apparently at ease Wes, who was practically stretching out over the whole couch and giving her a nod or two at her hasty, incomprehensible talk. Willow was by the front door, phone out and completely ignoring Webber as he babbled to no one in particular, seeming to be fixating on a moth flapping about near one of the lamps dull, unhooded bulbs.

Wilson absentmindedly wondered where the hood was, then remembered how Maxwell had kept that laundry basket on his head for some reason. With how crazy these people were, he wouldn't put it past any of them not to wear a lampshade, and if they ever did he'd have to just blink and turn his head, pretend he never saw a thing.

Better safe than sorry, right?

A tap on his shoulder reminded him of the other man's presence, and Wilson held his breath when he turned around, only exhaling in relief when Maxwell backed off from his personal space.

“I...don’t want to go back in there, not right now.” He winced at his tone, how easy it was to hear his unease and light panic at just being so close to that room of light and too many unstable people. “If. If you don't mind.”

The old man made some sort of odd gesture with his hands, an almost shake and then half wave, but he was shaking his head at the same time, looking dreadfully tired with this sort of lighting.

“I don't mind, no, not at all. Though, there are not many places here to settle and wait it all out…”

With how he had situated himself into practically blocking the way back, it looked like the old man did not want Wilson near that side of the flat. The niece's room was out of the question then, and supposedly that bathroom. Where did that leave him then back into the living room?

Seeing Wilson's face drop, the short man trying to not let his distress show but failing miserably, Maxwell suddenly snapped his fingers, expression lightening up a moment.

“Perhaps the kitchen?”

Wilson was about ready to object, remembering the big man and the fact that the kitchen was both visible and accessible to the living room, but the old man waved him forward, already moving, and Wilson found himself turning around and walking through the rest of the dark hall.

Which turned out to turn a corner, only Maxwells guiding hand in the near darkness making sure he didn't smack into the opposing wall, and it was sad how relieved he felt when the man let go of his shoulder and stepped away again.

He's been getting used to touch like that for too long, and now, when someone tried to respect his boundaries, it felt almost terrible. At least it was happening at all, really. If he spent too long with Wes, a man who communicates with his hands and all too much touch, he may just end up turning into a nervous wreck.

There was another opening, this time the light clear and white, and Maxwell didn't peek in this time, just scooted around him without much thought to step into the doorway.

There was a table, a small wooden one, and Wilson could see the rest of a kitchen supplies, sink with dirty dishes and fridge freezer combo, a pantry door and cupboards all around. That big man from earlier was there too, eating what seemed to be a rather large sandwich and making the wooden chair under him creak threateningly.

“Hello, twig man! Wolfgang hasn't seen you all night!” Even from this far away Wilson could smell the alcohol coming off of him in waves, wincing as he tried to not vomit again from the odor. Maxwell, however, seemed to not care.

“I have been watching Webber, so I could not join in the pleasantries tonight.”

“A good thing, friend.” The big man's voice was loud, but the continued babble from the living room, obscured by the bar, didn't even stumble or halt. “Young lady went up on the coffee table, started the Can Can dance!” 

He huffed out a chuckle, slapping his knee before taking a practically massive bite out of his sandwich.

“I pray she hasn't broken it this time.” Maxwell sighed, but his words landed on deaf ears as the man became incredibly occupied with eating his food. “Enjoy, I suppose. I dare say Charlie will be talking to you about the expenses later on. Ta.”

With a brief, ignored wave, Maxwell turned back into the dark hallway, Wilson waiting on the side, trying to not let himself get too curious.

He really didn't want to involve himself in this place too much.

“He's usually a little more eloquent when sober…”

The older man looked even worse now, exhaustion written deep in his face and, as Wilson watched, he was even swaying on his feet. 

Here he had been caring all about himself, and now this old man, at least 30 years older than him, looked on the verge of collapse.

“Is there another room here, somewhere quiet where you can sit?” Wilson inched forward, mindful of personal space but worried now. His own problems were massive, but here was an elderly man with a house filled with drug and alcohol addicts making a huge mess. No wonder he looked so tired.

Maxwell huffed at him, barely meeting his eye for a moment before quickly coming to a decision.

“My room it is then.”

Wilson started to object; it wasn't his place to be going into other peoples rooms and really, if he had to, he could endure in the living room under Wes's watchful eye. But Maxwell was already turned around and moving, down the dark hall with sure, if a little stumbling, steps, and all Wilson could do was watch a moment before taking off after him.

The promise of peace and calm was there, but his own worry far outweighed it. Who knew when the old man would just collapse and have a stroke, or a heart attack? He had no idea how to deal with those things, but leaving it up in the air would settle on him worse than panicking when it did happen.

When he caught up Maxwell was actually fiddling with a few keys, mumbling under his breath a moment as he flipped through them. Wilson eyed the amount, a little bit surprised and equal parts suspicious and curious at them all. 

When the old man found the right one, a small silver looking thing shining from the light back behind them, from the kitchen, hall still dark as ever, his hands shook a bit but the door opened up into-

More darkness.

Maxwell must have seen his expression, turning towards him to look him up and down.

“You're eyes should adjust, but if you want to go elsewhere I won't stop you.” The old man straightened up, spine popping and cracking a moment, before he swung around and entered into the dark room.

Wilson could just barely see into there, practically no silhouettes, and he wavered a moment, hesitant and paranoid.

But, then again, he should have no trouble fighting back someone that old, or at least that tired looking.

With that thought in mind he stepped in, entering into a rather-

Empty room.

There was a bed, and what appeared to be a chest of some sort, and the rest of emptiness. A window across from him shined with what was probably moon light, bluish contrasting with the faint hint of yellow light from the hall, and he caught sight of another door, smaller and probably to a restroom with how this was probably a master bedroom. A closet was set to his right, just as dark and only an outline to him, and it took him a few more steps as his eyes started to finally adjust.

“Nudge the door a little more closed, will you? Not all the way if you don't want, but it helps keep everything out.” Maxwells voice came from the bed, and Wilson squinted over to see the jumbled shape of a man who had practically collapsed onto the mattress, almost eagle spread but not quite.

He politely did as he was asked, the very air of the room certainly a little different from everywhere else in the flat, and maybe it was because of the lack of clutter but it was helping calm him down a bit, even with there still being another person around.

It...actually wasn't too bad.

Almost too quiet now, and the old man didn't seem to be in a talking mood, which was just fine with Wilson. Perhaps he could hide out in here, at least until Wes came to get him.

That man was his ride, after all, and taking public transportation at this time of night, in this sort of neighborhood, was an incredibly bad idea. Especially since he was short enough to look like an easy target, and he's had the experience enough to not even try leaving at night without a weapon.

Perhaps, Wilson thought, shuffling his feet in the carpet and trying to not look nosy even thought it was too dark to really tell, perhaps he'd ask Wes about that. He had no doubt that the man had access to such things.

Then again, he might not trust Wilson with something that dangerous, which was perfectly understandable.

Standing awkwardly in the space of the door, only the faint light of the rest of the apartment seeping in behind him, Wilson was lost to his own thoughts before a sound made him start, still tense and paranoid as he was.

But it turned out to be nothing all that threatening, glancing to the bed he could just barely see and the now snoring old man that has curled himself up on it. 

He fiddled with his hands, nervous and awkward and somewhat embarrassed, that this stranger, who happened to own this place, had invited him into his room just because Wilson had been uncomfortable being anywhere else. And then had promptly fallen asleep, with him standing in the corner in silence.

The sort of embarrassment he's felt around these people was all sorts of tiring, and frankly Wilson was starting to become sick of it all.

Glancing around once more, trying to distract himself from the empty silence, his gaze landed on the window on the opposite side of the room. Moonlight seeped through the blinds, and he hesitated a moment before shuffling his way over, a quick glance to the other occupant as he passed by.

What an odd fellow; Wilson would never be able to sleep easy if he knew some stranger was hanging about in his bedroom.

Fiddling with the blinds, trying to keep quiet as they shook, plastic and cheap and fairly useless in Wilson's opinion, he was finally able to draw them up and bring some more light into the room.

He looked out, the glass surprisingly clean, at the halfmoon outside and the rest of the cities lights.

When Wes had first pulled up, he had thought this complex would be much more extravagant, what with its five plus stories and the security gate blocking the road. The mostly empty parking lot should have been a big enough red flag, now that he thought about it, looking down to the pavement below.

Ha, he could see Wes's car from here!

Wilson leaned forward, only stopped when his forehead landed against the glass with a dull clunk, and he leaned against it a moment to see if he could catch sight of anyone down there.

There was a truck, leaving, and it didn't swerve or veer as it pulled up to the gate and waited for it to roll open, so he supposed that hadn't been anyone he's seen tonight.

That should be obvious, actually. This place isn't just home to a bunch of dangerous weirdos.

He sighed, fogging the glass briefly. Since he was here now, would he be considered one of them?

He hoped not. None of this was his fault, after all.

A part of him knew he was lying, but Wilson had decided a long time ago that he wouldn't listen to that part of himself. It made everything so much more complicated.

Another exhale, as he crossed his arms on the ledge of the window and rested his head down, looking bleary eyed out into the night. 

Everything has been so complicated lately, and he didn't even know what to do.

Well, besides listen to Wes, he supposed, tilting his head and eyeing the half lighted moon, its crater marked surface and dark, invisible side. Only a few pinpoints from the stars, light pollution covering most of it, and the sky was clear but rather empty, glum and dark with the city below.

He was supposed to be somewhere else by now, somewhere better. But that hadn't ended up happening, had it?

Wilson closed his eyes, sighing again, and maybe he was sighing too much lately but what else was he to do anymore?

Nothing, that was what. Nothing but do what he was told, he supposed, and that was a depressing thought but right now, in some old mans fucked up flat filled with people he wanted nothing to do with, it was the only thought he could really bring to mind.

Oh well, Wilson decided, musing glumly and giving the world outside, so high up in the sky and yet so tied down, a glance one more time. It wasn't the end of the world just yet, so that was a plus at least.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, leaning against the wall and dozing in his arms, silence and darkness and the world turning as it always did outside and far away from him, but Wilson did hear the knock on the door behind him.

It jolted him awake, blinking and disoriented and automatically wiping the drool from his mouth off, a swift glance around as his brain tried to jump start itself once more.

How late even was it now?

The bedroom door squeaked a bit, a light from the hall having been turned on at some point and flooding sickly amber, and another quick set of knocks rang out before someone shoved the door open.

Well, there was Wes then. Wilson raised his hand in a short wave, a hand through his hair as a vain attempt to be more presentable before realizing that it didn't really matter, but then he caught sight of the other person stumbling in.

Or, to be more accurately, practically collapsed against the door and looking wasted beyond belief, and the teenager gave him a look that would have probably killed him if it had been any angrier. Hanging off the door, Wes giving her a wide berth, the girl swiped her long hair out of her face and bared her teeth at him, eyes narrowed.

“What the fuck you doing in here, shorty?”

Wilson blinked at her, a little surprised that she could even articulate herself still, especially with how bad she looked and the fact she seemed to be having trouble keeping on her feet, but before he could make an attempt to talk there was a shifting from the bed.

“Don't be rude, Wendy.” The old man was sitting up, suit crumbled and looking worse than he had, and he rubbed a hand over his forehead, a heavy sigh as Wendy turned her death glare towards him. “Are you done now?”

Just as she opened her mouth to retaliate, almost shaking with anger even as she had a death grip on the door handle, Wes stepped forward, a hand brushing her shoulder briefly before gesturing wildly to Wilson.

He had to squint to understand, still dizzy and the room dark enough even with the halls addition, but he was able to get the gist of it at least.

“We are leaving.” He announced, a little loudly from the winces everyone, including himself, had afterwards. “Er, thanks for...inviting us?”

It came off as a question, and certainly the wrong thing to say since both Maxwell and Wendy gave him equal looks of disbelief and disgust, but Wes clapped his hands and waved him over.

As he made his way to the door, Maxwell got himself out of bed, path more to his niece than anyone else, and Wilson tried to not be cowed by the glare the teen was giving him as he skirted her by. His face must have given him away, however, and she laughed hysterically, cackling as Wes took a step back to let him into the lighted hall.

He glanced over to watch Maxwell stoop down next to her collapsed form, still holding onto the door handle, and the old man hesitated a moment before reaching for her arm and taking a rather keen look.

“Wes, you should know better.”

Wilson watched as the two men looked at each other, Wes drawn up with his hands clasped and Maxwell looking up at him, face drawn and tense.

Then Wes wiggled his fingers, a quirk of a smile on his face, and swiftly pulled out a bundle of bills from his pocket, not quite waving them but certainly showing them off.  
Wilson has never seen the man make that look on his face, almost cheeky except not quite, a Cheshire grin without even grinning, and it seemed as if the temperature dropped a steady few degrees from the act.

Then Maxwell sighed, looked away, to the sloppy bandages on his nieces arm before she yanked her arm away and glowered at him, shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

Wilson quietly let out the breath he hadn't realized he's been holding. His tiredness was returning tenth fold, and at this point he didn't want to be here anymore. This wasn't his problem.

He caught sight of the marks on the girls arm, the jittery look on her face and blown wide pupils, and her tired uncle watching with a worried expression on his face.

None of this was his problem.

With Wes looking at the two of them, that disquieting look on his normally softer face, Wilson steeled himself.

Like he had said, it was time for them to leave.

He did hesitate a moment, frown set on his face as he looked between all three, but shook his head and reached an arm up, to lightly tug at Wes's sleeve to get his attention.

Childish, in a way, but sometimes the man just didn't seem to notice when his attention was needed.

“I think we should go.” Said quietly, a glance to the old man and the niece, but Wes didn't even try to object, a shrug of his shoulders and the loss of that horrid expression into something a little more natural.

Which certainly made Wilson feel more at ease.

Wes didn't even grace the two with a farewell, and Wilson trailed behind him, a last look over his shoulder.

Maxwell was helping her up, careful and slow, and she allowed him too, hair cascading over her face and looking limp, weak and shivering.

“Time for bed Wendy.”

This made her turn her head, face snarling as her voice hissed, loud and rugged and angry in a sharp retort.

“Fuck off old man.”

Then Wes's hand found his shoulder, jolted his attention back and he didn't hesitate to shrug it off him, Wes giving him a small smile as if to say there was no offense taken. Leaving the hall, into the now empty kitchen and then the living room, the place empty and eerie and still so dingy, grubby, Wilson gave the place one last look before Wes led him out.

Passing the broken down elevator, its fraying taped warning and the discomforting silence of the empty, dull halls, Wes ahead if him, he mulled over nothing in particular. He knew he was scowling, tired more than anything else at this point, and his gaze kept to the stained carpet, lazily following its zig zagging patterns and marked up fabric.

He realized, rather suddenly, that he didn't like this place.

And he didn't want to come back.

The stairwell was a long way down, rusted in places and clanking loudly under their steps, and his gaze wandered over the garbage and holes and damage this place had, the eerie quiet and how it felt, in some odd, almost wrong way, that he was being watched.

When he chanced a brief look up, into the darkness of the higher floors, Wilson could almost swear he caught sight of eyes blinking back down to him, wide and white and milky.

But he quickly jerked his focus to Wes's back, face drawn as he shook his head, and quickened his steps to reach the other man, down stairs to catch up on the next landing and to raise a hand to brush his arm, to get his attention.

“I'd rather not come back here.” His voice felt wrong, quiet, and he knew he was just tired but he didn't meet the man's eyes and grit his jaw, scowling even more. “If that is alright with you.”

Wes hesitated, silent as always, and Wilson stubbornly didn't look up at him, stared at the space where the metal railing met the stone of the stairs. 

It wasn't cold, here, but oppressive, heavy air, and Wilson waited, tired and dirty feeling, a headache starting to creep into his skull with foreboding. He had made his own decision, made up his mind, and he wanted nothing to do with this building.

And nothing to do with the people inside of it.

He thought, briefly, of the old man in that falling apart flat, with that manic teenager and that tired, done looking woman.

No, he wanted nothing to do with this place.

Wes lighted his hand softly on his shoulder, made him shudder and fight the urge to step back, but when he looked up the man had a serious look on his face, ever so slightly curled down into a soft frown.

When he nodded, Wilson let out a heavy breath, not realizing that this was causing him so much stress until just now, his shoulders falling in what might have been relief, if he wasn't feeling that headache increase its pressure.

But, as Wes continued down the stairs, down to ground level and then out, to the car, to drive Wilson back to his temporary home, he couldn't help but give the massive building one last glance.

What a terrible place, Wilson thought, the realization dawning. He was glad he'd never be brought here again.

As long as Wes kept his word, of course. And Wilson would hope for that, at least. 

He really, really didn't want to come back here.


End file.
